[50 Cent] Yeah, I like the way this feel This make me wanna just (G-G-G-G, G-Unit!) Buck somethin, hahaha (G-UNIT!) [Chorus: 50 Cent] Nigga you shit on me, I shit on you You put a hit on me, I put a hit on you An eye for an eye nigga Survive the shots or die nigga [50] Get em Banks! [Verse One: Lloyd Banks - singing] They cant hold me Im Lloyd Banks the one and on-ly Not your buddy, not your pal, not your ho-mey But aint a government around that can control me Oh no!!! [rapping] Uhh, Im on that "Doggystyle" shit, man I dont love a hoe Poppa wasnt round, so I had to let my brother know Never stay at center, play the back and let your money grow Most them niggaz wouldnt be around if you was bummy yo Southside Jamaica neighbor yeah thats where I come from If you see a nigga with me then theres more than one gun Fly straight soldier, aintcha tired of bein the dumb one Or are you satisfied bein another niggas Dun-Dunn We all know friendships turnin sour when you gettin it Some niggaz hate me in the hood, but I dont owe them niggaz shit Smilin all up my face like I dont know them niggaz sick But I can care less, Im on the Island and Im gettin rich [Chorus] [Verse Two: Young Buck] Walk it and talk it, spit it how I live it nigga Came from the country, Dirty South get it nigga Feds try and question me, they run up in my ho-tel They said there was a shootin, but they found no shells New York City hell they throwin niggaz under jails I got love for dem and I aint even from dere Now bust a shot for dem boys on da block I can feel your pain nigga, Im still in the game nigga Theres somethin bout the sound of a trey-pound That make me pull up, hop out, and make a nigga lay down See every time we round, you hear some shots go off And niggaz get they chains snatched when they tryin to show off Shootouts in broad day, we do it the mob way And come to find out, these niggaz softer than Sade Ima keep livin my life with a pistol in my palm And a wrist full of ice, you can call me a Don motherfucker [Interlude: singing] We got the Hei-ny So make one wrong move and youre dy-ing Aint no time for coppin a plea and cry-ing Cause my niggaz aint gon stop ridin So you gone [Chorus] [Verse Three: 50 Cent] I got a handgun habit, nigga front Ill let you have it When the shots go off, cops sayin 50 back at it Im allergic to the feathers on these bird-ass niggaz (yea) Front and Ill put your brains on that curb fast nigga I aint a marksman, one spark and I spray shit Nuff rounds from that H-K, I dont play bitch (uh-huh) Move like Im militant, back on that gorilla shit Moody, disrespectful, unruly, but niggaz cant move me (yea) I squeeze til I run out of ammo, if its a problem its handled I have your people pourin our liquor and lightin candles You fuck around I blow your brains on my New York Times Run home, turn to the sports section and read your mind Its crystal clear, you should feel when that gat bust First theres crime scene tape, then you end up in that black hearse We dont go to funerals, but well go to your wake fam Do your body all banged up, you made a mistake man [Chorus]
Artist: G-Unit
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